Lost in the Rain
by MacaroniWithExtraCheese
Summary: Freed is feeling overwhelmed, which has dire consequences. Makarov x Freed father-son.


_Old story I wrote years ago. It will be a two parter (maybe more but we'll see) It's just to get my creative juices flowing XD_

_Enjoy!_

* * *

_Elation _

_Fix the ledgers, rewrite them, pick up the washing, take it the house, repaint the doors, check for at least two jobs, sign up for said jobs, mend the garden, update Rune-magic books, update Rune-security around home..._

The list of unfinished duties and orders loomed inside Freed's head like an oncoming train. He could feel the time ticker clapping in his head, knocking off the seconds with thunderous dongs that blended and merged in his head to create a single roar of sound that drove him mad. He was holding the books tightly as he stalked out of the bookstore. New Ledgers to redo the old accounts, they were a mess and he had been assigned by Makarov to fix them.

…_.read through new manuscripts, go in at four to help Mirijane with the food tonight, check the Guild's stock, restock if needed (always needed) give Levy a lesson in written magic,,..._

He paid for the books, and gripped them tightly, his knuckles turning white. The clerk had given him an odd look, but he'd barely noticed.

He'd always been assigned to do these types of things. No one in the guild wanted to do them, and Laxus always had duties for him to perform and despite being so distant he did actually care about the members. He had a lot of ground to make up for his transgressions. But recently... recently he had been feeling a little overwhelmed. He went to bed at 3 and woke up again at six, he couldn't afford to lose more hours than that. Each day was filled with duties and new activities, each one he took the time to do and to do well.

He stepped outside.

_Sort out the guild's Library, Fix the Kegs, help to rebuild the tables, or get new tables if they are in-salvageable, call in someone to fix the windows, double check budget to make sure we can afford it, write thank-you letters to each Guild Leader for their support in finding them, do the... the... _

He slowed to a stop on the sidewalk. His hands still gripped the ledgers, but his eyes had softened.

It was raining.

Clear drops of water washing away the grime and muck from the gutters and cobblestones, revealing pale stone and smothering the fresh summer scents with the smell of soil and water. It puttered down the gutters and splattered on the stone, dancing merrily in the street as it continued to scrub the world clean, pushing all of it away and rushing it to the ocean where it was swallowed whole.

The cleansing of the world.

The rain fell.

And it washed Freed down, drenching his coat, his hair, his skin and freezing him to the very bone. His hands were shaking, his face was numb but he watched as the grime and muck washed away. So easy. It looked so easy. And within his heart he wished it truly was that easy. That the stains and blemishes of today could be scrubbed clean and forgotten by tomorrow. Leaving only the scent of rain.

And the rain fell, and fell, and fell still washing still cleaning and never halting. The lightning crackled in the sky like electric folds in a blanket of cotton. Breaking open the heavens with a roar as the the thunder cried back in response. Freed looked up, and wished he had rain. To clean, cleanse to wash away the mistakes of today, of yesterday of the past into the gutters and into the sea where only Urr would know of it. So that he had no more guilt and fear for tomorrow.

If only life was as simple as the falling of rain.

* * *

The dreary early winter day continued for the remainder of the afternoon, but Freed found himself indoors by late evening. Half-dried and with an untouched glass of wine in front of him. He watched the storms through the window. The Guild was much more rowdy due to the weather. No one wanted to do a job in these soaked streets and roads. Several books lay open in front of him. The old texts had been dug up about three days ago and Makarov had assigned him to read through them. It was a slow process, the language was old, but not indecipherable.

Still, it was more work and he found his energy was slowly draining away leaving him empty. Everyday he go more duties, more to do, more to fix, to read and help out with. He could feel exhaustion creeping in from all sides, pressing in around him and making his breathing hard and labored. His soul was tired, his body was sore but he never showed it.

What would the point be in that? As a member of the Thunder god Tribe he needed to show how strong he could be. Weakness was not something he could afford to show. Besides, despite the attack on the Guild now long past, he couldn't help but feel that he would find little sympathy from its members. In some ways he still felt like an outsider. He'd never really fitted in here, always keeping his distance and holding people at arms length.

Nothing had really changed, but now they had reason to hate him. Where before they might have had pity for him, like a small pathetic wet dog.

Sadly the dog had betrayed their trust.

It reminded him too vividly of his father. How cold he'd been, how hard he'd been to please, how much trouble Freed had had fitting in, even in his own town. His intellect far above average, prompting kids to tease him or steer clear if they knew better. Nothing he did was good enough. Perfection was a word he'd come to worship and despise.

When he failed at a task (which he usually did) his father would mentally abuse him, taunting him, breaking his self-esteem down part by fragile part until all that was left were crumbling ruins.

In that brutal ritual his father had called love, he'd learned to hate, and through that hate he'd learned how dark his magic could truly be.

When he'd been a boy his anger had turned uncontrollable. Vicious, and sharp it grew from the anger for his father, and bitterness over his life, and that had turned against the people around him. Yet, still, he recalls laughing a lot more back then, even in that darkness. Still it was a fair trade.

He'd hurt a lot of people before he learned to control himself.

Natsu slammed face first into the ruins, and Freed started slightly from his reverie. The purple icons rippling for a moment before returning to their invisible stasis.

He only had to speak more than three words to break the spell, but he wasn't being talkative. And it was quiet, the runes he had placed around him was effectively keeping out all sound and other stimuli. His own personnel little piece of heaven.

Taking a sip from his wine, he turned back to his books.

Someone banged on the side of the Rune and Freed's gaze shot up to find his leader on the other. Laxus was glaring, and a weariness washed over Freed in and instant. Which was so surprising to him that he immediately sat upright and said;

"What can I do for you, Laxus?"

The Runes disbanded, bringing in the rush of sound and effectively giving Freed a full fledged migraine. He sighed inwardly, feeling the stirrings of nasea ripple just beneath the surface, he really wasn't in the mood today.

"We're going on a mission," his leader said, "Where's Bixlow?"

The tone in that voice was the only proof Freed needed to know that his leader was having a poor day. He needed to tread carefully, and any change in scent would let Laxus know he was having a bad day, and he doubted the man would appreciate knowing Freed was displeased with him.

Images of his father brooding and bitter rose to the surface, and for a moment they felt too close.

"He's at home," he said quickly, marking his place and closing the books, he noted his hands were shaking but he astutely ignored it. If his father had taught him anything it was how to keep going long past your breaking point. Freed wasn't even close to it. Laxus was waiting when Freed turned back to him, for a moment he was uncertain what was going on, but realization soon dawned.

Biting back a heavy sigh and keeping his body and mind as calm as possible he asked, "Shall I go get him?"

"Yep," Laxus said and stalked away, heading for the bar where the Master was speaking to Macao. A flash of anger fed that demon behind his eyes. It was hot, his arms feeling a stinging numbness that ran up to his neck. It was dangerous. When Laxus was gone Freed rose and headed for the door, but was stopped ten paces in.

"Freed! Where are you going?" A mist was descending in his head, a dark mist that was slowly pushing away logical thought in favor of murderous ones. He turned, Mirijane came up to him, her bright smile lighting up her face, "I thought you were still helping me with tonight's preparations?"

The beast was taking shape. Breeding itself from a darkness weaved from pure burning anger. It slithered across his mind but Freed quickly shackled it, slamming the bonds around large wrists, he had to stay calm. A temper was a terrible thing for a dark mage to have.

"I'm sorry Mirijane," he said softly, "I won't be able to make it, Laxus just told me we have a mission-"

"Awe Freed!" Wakabi moaned, "That's the second time this week!"

_The chains rattled._

"Damn straight!" Natsu called from the bar, pulling his head out of a lock from Gray, "You promised us some of your cooking, and we're looking forward to it!"

"I-"

"And you promised Levy to help her with her Magic," Jet said from another table, where said girl was blushing and smiling.

"I know but-"

"And when are the ledgers gonna get fixed?" Macao chuckled, turning away from the Master for a moment, "Miri is pretty busy keeping this place going,"

_tightened..._

"So you see?" Mirijane said smiling sweetly, most days Freed found that smile enrapturing, today it just made him ill, "You can't leave tonight-"

"Freed!" Laxus called storming into the hall, "Where's Bixlow?"

_They creaked against the strain..._

"I was just about to-"

"Do I have to do everything?" he said,

Freed looked at him, seeing not the face of his leader but only his father.

"Get going! We're gonna miss the train,"

_And snapped._

As one they leapt the beast and Freed. The demon clawed forwards, breaking free of its casing and he slammed into Laxus mid-shape. His body twisted and morphing into something it wasn't sure it wanted to become, the rest of him trying to figure out what to do.

It was painful, excruciating but so very satisfying. Not for a very long time has he felt this alive.

The beast roared inside of him. He savored it, drinking up the delicious feeling of emotion and madness he has denied himself for so long. It bubbled in his veins creating a feeling of elation and joy impossible to compare. A complete blur filled with punches and scratches, above which he could hear someone scream and yell in a language he vaguely recognized.

A current of pure energy ripped through him, shaking his body but he ignored it and the beast roared harder above the crackling lighting snapping about him.

He felt his leg snap backwards as it tried to take form. His hands stretched into claws, his jaw lengthened revealing incisors long enough to tear bone. Above this roar of pain came the pumping adrenaline, the freedom the redemption why had he denied himself this for so long? The call of freedom and elation!

And in this moment of pure elation he laughed, even as he heard screams of fear, anger or indignation he laughed until tears fell, until his stomach hurt and his muscles ached.

Then it stopped.

The anger dimmed... and then it disappeared, pulling back leaving him there alone with the consequences. The beast retreated back into the shadows, the shackles lying at its feet, worthless.

He blinked the red mist ascended and he looked to find the unconscious form of Laxus beneath him. He was bleeding, from the temple, open wounds bled profusely from his chest and arms. Freed still felt a little wonky, like his head was stuffed with cotton, he couldn't think straight. Drool dribbled down from a twisted jaw and he realized what must have happened.

He'd lost control. A life time built on keeping his emotions in check and one stupid moment ruined all his hard work. As if to confirm his suspicions he looked around them room, and felt his heart sink.

People were screaming, holding their heads, others were in corners, some were trying to kill each other. The Ecriture... it must had leaked. It was a well known fact that when a Mage lost control it was never pretty. Big explosion usually happened. But when a Rune mage lost control... it was a bit more... sadistic.

They were all looking at him, some with fear in their eyes...

Then something grabbed him, he was flying through the air still gripped tightly and then slammed into the wall. His disjointed bones and twisted body roared in pain and agony almost sending him to dreamland, but Freed bit the inside of his cheek. It was weak to cry.

Coming to his senses he looked down to find Makarov holding him tightly, his giant hand gripping him and in his eyes burning with self-restraint.

It was an expression he had come to fear, one he had seen one too many times. From his father, from his friends, from his teachers and now from his peers. And in that moment, having come full circle in life he felt above all else, tired. Tired of feeling guilty of trying to prove to the world he had a right to exist. He was tired of feeling his past chase him, and now he was tired of seeing his future crumble away. Never more-so than that moment had he wished to die. To let the darkness swallow him. He reached into his soul, the beast was still there, it wouldn't be hard to-

"Pathetic fool..." the voice was twisted and broken, the demon's voice rippling and dominating Freed's, "Should'ave killed the idiot when Ay 'ad the chan-"

The hand tightened.

"That all ya got old ma-"

And squeezed.

The scream that ripped loose was purely Freed. Terrified and hurt he screamed above the pain, feeling his bones rubbing against twisted muscles The tears fell even as he tried to stop them. But the wave of guilt, fear and exhaustion was too much. He could hear someone screaming above this. But it was fading fast and moments later he could feel the darkness take him...


End file.
